


Three Little Words

by Fan_by_Proxy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Bottom!Cas, Demon!Dean, M/M, Other, Punishment, Reward, fallen!cas, non-con elements, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1699910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Fan_by_Proxy





	Three Little Words

Dean picked some gristle from between his teeth. The angel was still writhing, but his screams had died down to hoarse grunts. It had taken long enough; he was still pretty strong, Disgraced or not. The ground was littered with dead batteries and toys with burnt-out motors, broken paddles and bent crops. Blood had dried in long drips down his wrists, the leather restraints fraying at this point; there were even stress cracks in the wall where he’d tried to pull free. Sticky puddles of cum in various states of drying dotted the floor; Dean was impressed.

  
He was also fucking _raging_. Throwing everything at the angel, doing every variation of what that dink called ‘sin’ to him, and he  _still wouldn’t submit!_  At this point it wasn’t about breaking the angel; it was past the rules of Heaven and Hell, the Rite of Punishment, all of that political bullshit. This was now about the battle of wills, and come here, up there, in between, or even sideways, Dean was going to  _fuck that angel_.

  
It was time to change out the toy. He could hear the motor dying with a whine. Dean slid a hand between the angel’s thighs, relishing in the slick sweat. “Time for something else pretty boy.” he murmured, tickling the angel’s sac lightly with his nails before easing his hand back to grab the end of the toy. This one was a beaut; one of those oddball novelty dragon cocks. Curved and long and ribbed and nibbed within an inch of its life and a motor like a weedwhacker. He was sad to see it hadn’t worked. “You know,” Dean said as the toy came free with a loud, wet, sucking pop that he felt from root to tip, “this could all be over. You just gotta say two little words Feather-butt.”

  
The angel opened his eyes.

  
Their color was startling. Dean dropped the toy and stared; blues like that didn’t happen in Hell. There wasn’t enough air or light for it…but here, chained to his wall, was a blue that landed somewhere between the ocean and the sky. Jewel-like without the hard, empty glitter. He hunted through words, through cliches, through descriptions, and couldn’t come up with anything that quite fit to describe them. The tears eking from them were a great touch, like scoops of icecream on the world’s biggest pie. “Two words Castiel. And it’s over.” he murmured, running his nails up the angel’s stomach and chest. A pulse still throbbed in his neck, there was still rebellion in him.

  
"N-n-n-n-no…" he breathed.

  
Dean held his chin gently, thumb rubbing along that rebellious little throb. He liked the willful streak. He’d been accused of willfulness more than once, and like did seek out like. “Just two…little…words…and you can come down off the wall and  _rest_. Wouldn’t that be nice? To let your arms come down and lie down somewhere soft. Two little words, and you’re free.” he murmured.

  
The angel shook his head weakly; barely moving but still defiant. “N-n-n-not wrong.” he whimpered as a shiver ripped through him, goosebumps rising.

  
That wasn’t the reaction Dean was expecting. Early on, when the nipple clamps had gone on and the belly button ring had punched through, the angel had squirmed and protested and sworn revenge. Then, when the bruises darkened and the first box of toys was used up, he’d switched to eyes-shut defiance. Now, as Dean’s deep bag of tricks, pricks, and sticks was emptying…he shivered. “Two words Castiel, and your whole world changes for the better.” he murmured, leaning in and rubbing his cheek against the angels.

  
Another shiver.

  
His skin was soft; that’s why Dean liked getting the angels to punish. It didn’t happen all that often, and they usually got used up pretty fast, but  _oh_  until the end. Soft skin, sweat cream, the most beautiful shades of hurt on their skin. And their  _feathers_ —no one in Hell was allowed to know, but Dean actually  _liked_ angel wings. Imagine that something fuzzy and hollow and made up of millions of little pieces could be something so…neat. “Two words.” He breathed.

  
There was a soft, whimpery little sob hidden in a sigh.

  
A tear touched his cheek. Dean turned his face just enough to lick the salty trail.

  
"Don’t…"

  
Dean pulled back, mulling his options. Hardness, while fun, wasn’t getting the job done. And he really didn’t want this Disgraced little beauty dying on the wall. No, he’d have to do things just a little different. “Castiel.” he murmured. “ _Castiel_.”

  
The angel shook his head, dark hair matted with sweat and other fluids.

  
"Oh  _Castiel_.” Dean repeated, unable to keep the purr out of his growl. “Two words…that’s all it’ll take.” he skimmed that soft, soft cheek with his lips. There was a little prickle of stubble, more salt from the tears and sweat, and that little hint of the divine that not even Disgrace could take away.

  
"N-n-n-n-no…"

  
He would do it. It was risky and stupid and incredibly un-demon-like but he was going to do it. Dean skimmed the lips; they were puffy, raw and chapped from Heavenly teeth biting into them. He could smell blood on them. “Two words.” he whispered before pressing his lips to them. The angel gave a jolt, unable to get away from the kiss. Dean thought, rather hopefully, that the angel now sagging against his wall was sagging in defeat and not death. He wasn’t very fond of kissing corpses.

  
The kiss went on longer than a kiss of fealty, longer than the kiss of death; longer even than the famed Judas kiss (and Judes was well-known to use tongue). It was a thousand-year kiss…which in Hell was a real possibility. Dean pulled away, licking his lips. His cock still throbbed with want and his fingers itched to make the claim. But he wanted, he needed the angel to say the words. “Two words Castiel…” he repeated, letting go of the angel’s throat.

  
Those hypnotic blue eyes opened again. There was still a flicker of rebellion, a flash of pride. But it slid under something…promising. “I’m yours.”

  
Dean nearly came right then. He was giddy, actually cutting through the leather restraints with his nails. They were his favorites but the angel— _his_  angel—had stressed them too much trying to fight. Rather than letting Castiel fall to his knees, he let the angel sink slowly through his hands, and curling his fingers in that dark hair when the head threatened to sink too far. “Now be my good boy, and open your mouth.”

  
Castiel looked up with that unfathomable look, lips parting slowly.

  
Dean pressed in, all the way to the base. He expected the angel to gag, make a little wriggle, something. That’s what usually happened when he crammed his whole length into somebody’s mouth. But damn this little soul, he had no gag reflex! Dean pumped his hips hard and fast, still holding onto the hair. He was going to come quick as a mortal at this rate; Castiel’s torn lips were stretched taut, his eyes wide open, his throat slick and drool dripping down his chin. “Swallow!” Dean barked as he came, at last getting the little twitch of revulsion he was looking for.

  
When he pulled free, the angel closed his eyes and went limp. Dean nearly dropped him as the hairs around his fingers came free of their scalp. Rather than letting Castiel crash to the floor, Dean knelt to catch him. He seemed tinier than when they first met; almost precious. It was in that curious instant that Dean decided no matter what, he wasn’t sharing. Castiel. Was. _His_.


End file.
